


𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫

by ethrealeis



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Internalized Homophobia, Kind of slow burn but not really, M/M, Musicians, Sexual Tension, Violence, the sbi family is dysfunctional and they gotta get better, tubbo is schlatt's little brother!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethrealeis/pseuds/ethrealeis
Summary: "you've got me hooked.""i mean, you were drunk.""a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, wilbur soot."(a singer!au with a familiar pink-haired bodyguard, a terrible music manager, a load of drunk men, and a singer who just wants to feel okay.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot, Minx | JustAMinx/Niki | Nihachu, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 28
Kudos: 137





	1. HATE? ANIMOSITY!

the room was busy. really busy. 

and loud. far, far too loud for any reasonable person to be comfortable with. but then again, no one here seemed completely rational either. 

the club was... vibrant, to say the least. wilbur's boss had said it was the only good place for drinks and company in all of new york. 

too many bright lights, in wilbur's humble opinion. too much screaming. it felt more like a rave than a distinguished nightclub for the affluent and _nouveau riche_ like himself. 

then again, who was he to question his boss? 

he was broken out of his reverie to the sound of screaming; only to turn his head and see his boss lifting a girl up, bridal style, spinning her around to a laughing crowd.

what a showoff.

wilbur glanced at his wristwatch; exactly midnight. the only reason he hadn't passed out on the floor was that the amount of alcohol his director had pumped in him had been strong, making his head spin and his steps shaky. he was starting to regret leaving his bodyguard. 

he leant back slightly on the sofa, immediately feeling relief wash through his body. he shut his eyes tight and tried to forget about where he was. easier said than done. 

"hey, wilbur! c'mere, you-"

the same rough laugh echoed in his head; and then he felt himself slowly being pulled off his pathetic sanctuary and back on his feet, a tight grip on his shoulder steering him towards a small crowd of people dressed in faux-fur and sequins. 

"this man, ladies and gents, is the key to all my- hah, our success!"

his bosses' grip on his skin tightened. it would most certainly leave a mark. in response, wilbur tilted his head up to stare at the faces in front of him. 

they were all blank. blank, fuzzy slates of skin, all talking to him at once. he shook his head tiredly, blinking and giving his boss a look. he saw him respond by narrowing his eyes to slits and stiffening, clenching his hand on his shoulder so hard it made his head spin.

"sorry folks. give us a minute."

strong arms yanked him away from the group and into a quieter spot of the club, and he saw him pull of his gloves and all of a sudden he felt red across his face, accompanied with the sound of a leather on skin. he felt his back drag down against the wall as he slumped on the ground. 

"you fucking drunk, wilbur? you fucking _sissy_ , get the fuck up." 

wilbur rubbed his cheek, stumbling to get up, looking down at the same sick-stuck ground he had fallen on. it had stained his favourite jumper. 

"jesus fucking christ, wil, you're gonna fucking ruin me." his boss leant against the wall, looking away from the red-faced mess that was wilbur. 

"where's your fucking bodyguard?! you're meant to stay with them so this kind of shit doesn't- oh, for fucks' sake!" he yelled. wilbur had thrown up. 

wilbur sank back to the floor. it wasn't pleasant; his head was full of screams from the people dancing only a few feet away in the next room, tears swelling to excessive amounts in his eyes, prohibiting him from seeing anything that wasn't a complete blur. 

"i'd slap you again if you didn't look so disgusting," he snarled, and wilbur could just about see the menace in his eyes; red and fervid. "go clean up. i'll get your guard back and he'll take you home."

and with that, he walked off, leaving a sad, sobbing heap on the floor.

**\---**

true to his word, a familiar dead-eyed, pink-haired man in black shuffled towards the toilets wilbur had shut himself into, holding a small bundle. 

"wilbur," he drawled, banging on the stall door, "you done in there?" 

he heard wilbur crouch against the bowl, the sound of retching filling the room, along with a nasty smell of sick wafting through the air. "god, how much did you drink?" the man said, wrinkling his nose and stepping back as a pale-faced wilbur came out the stall. 

"not that much," he rasped, bending over the sink and letting cold water run over his face. "the stuff was really bad." he admitted. 

his bodyguard put the parcel he held to one side and pulled a roll of paper off its hook and passed it to him.

"what's in the package?" wilbur croaked, rubbing the coarse paper against his skin. he winced slightly as he touched the red hand-mark his boss had given him, giving his guard a weak smile. the man frowned before answering. 

"new clothes for you. you're covered in sick." the brunette looked down at his jumper in disgust, holding the bottom of it away from his skin. "right." he took the parcel from him and went back into the stall. 

there was a thick silence. "why'd you ditch me, wil?" his bodyguard asked. his voice was softer than usual, albeit a little hurt. "i don't- ah, i don't know, techno. i'm sorry, yeah? won't do it again." wilbur's voice slurred slightly, and a yawn could be heard from his stall. 

techno grinned. "the car's waiting outside, wilbur." there was an incessant tapping of a boot against the shiny floor of the bathroom. wilbur replied with a laugh. "okay, i'm done."

the musician's eyes were still down and plain, his skin still pale; a stark contrast to the bright yellow jumper he had messily adorned. his cheek was still bright red. 

"what happened to your-" the guard started, stopping when he saw wilbur's smile falter. he passed him the bag of dirty clothing and tried to return to his feeble grin. "s'fine, tech, seriously. it doesn't hurt any more." there was a sudden cacophony of screams from the main rooms next door, making wilbur shudder. "can we go now?" 

"alright." techno murmured.

the pair walked out the room, with the pink-haired bodyguard shielding wilbur from people besieging him with questions and remarks, trying to haul his employer through the masses of people. they just kept coming; the walk didn't feel like it would end.

after a while, they passed his manager. techno gave him a dirty look, which he subtly took note of and continued to chat amongst the crowd, talking about "irresponsibility" and "unruly behaviour". 

the pair steered through the area as carefully as they could, with techno acting as a human stand for wilbur to lean on. his steps were inconsistent, and more than once did he have to be pulled up by the guard. 

oh, the green light of the exit was like a holy grail, a clean beryl shade against the raging pinks and reds. techno tried to pull wilbur towards it; but to no avail; he was distracted by a scene a little way off.

then techno clocked the sound of shouting. an argument had sprung up, between some drunk guy and a bartender. there were a couple of broken glasses on the floor and the drunk man was clearly agitated about something.

"you bastard, don't ever fucking insult me like that again, you cunt-" 

the barkeeper was clearly out of his depth. wilbur tugged lightly on techno's arm, motioning for him to walk over to the pair. he reluctantly obliged. 

"wil, the manager's looking over here; he's gonna notice us." techno whispered. 

the brunette shook his head. "take the guy in the car too."

the bodyguard stared wide-eyed at him. "what the hell? why?" 

he got a glare from wilbur for that. "'cause i want to do something good for once? do something by free will? i don't fucking know, dave, just pull him off the-" there was a stream of curses from the fighting pair "-pull him off the bloody bartender, alright?" 

the shorter flicked long, pink hair over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the use of his real name. he gave the cluster of people surrounding their boss a glance. he gave wilbur another look before nodding.

he slipped behind the drunk and pulled him off the bar's table. 

"what the- fuckin' brute, get- get the fuck off me-" 

techno placed a hand over his mouth, silently praying the man had a higher alcohol tolerance than wilbur. "we're takin' you home, sir." the man looked angrily up at his face, only to see the face of techno staring back. nevertheless, he went slack fast and let the guard take him away. 

there was little resistance after that, only a couple of muffled snarls coming out of his mouth before he begrudgingly stayed quiet. techno went back to the place wilbur had decided to rest, while the drunken bronze-haired man in close pursuit, dragging his heels on the floor as the bodyguard towed him towards the safe-space that was bathed the wonderful calming green light. 

wilbur looked up weakly, nervously pulling on loose strings from his sweater. techno gave him a grim smile in return, frowning at the complete chaos the new addition had left in his wake; mostly consisting of cracked glass and deep etch-marks in the carpet and scratches on the floor from the heavy boots he was wearing. 

"what'cha want me to do with this guy now?" the pinkette said dryly. wilbur quickly stood up to properly leave for the exit, eyes heavy and dark. 

unfortunately, his manager had other plans. he'd seen what the pair had planned and prowled over, like a lion stalking prey. 

the pair didn't even realise he had seen 'till it was too late.

"wilbur; care to explain why your bodyguard has some fucking drunk on him right now?" he growled, gripping the hem of the jumper's neck and holding him back, making the taller freeze. 

"you've made a fool out of yourself, wilbur." he turned to techno, violently yanking the sweater again, making wilbur shriek slightly and pull away; grabbing onto a ledge to stop himself from falling. "and you- you're his goddamn guard, drop the wasted fucker and get out!"

techno looked more than happy to dump the deadweight he was pulling along, but stopped at the pained look on wilbur's face, motioning for him to come back over. 

"what is it, wil?" he whispered. it took a while for the brunette to respond, knuckles turning a deathly white as he gripped onto the edge. he didn't take his eyes off his boss for a second. 

"you think you can carry him an' run?"

techno gaped for a minute, about to speak, but wilbur shushed him and nodded towards the figure of his manager, outlined in red against the darkness of the room. 

"he's gonna chase us down, man."

wilbur shook his head. "he won't want to attract attention to himself. appearances are key, tech."

techno closed his mouth and dipped his head in acknowledgment. pulling the drunken man's arms around his shoulders, he shuffled closer to the doorway; only now realising how stagnant the air was in the club compared to the fresh breeze of the bare night.

wilbur followed his lead.

the figure of his manager didn't move, but they could see his eyes glinting maliciously in the dark. he would most certainly find a way to punish the pair later. probably more so wilbur than techno. the brunette shuddered.

after what seemed like hours, the car park was in sight.

getting the slumped figure of a completely-out-of-it man to get in the backseat and stay there without being sick all over the clean leather was easier than expected; apart from the fact that he would have a terrible headache when he woke up, owing to the way techno threw him in the car. 

the pair sat in the front; wilbur tried getting into the driver's seat, but techno insisted on driving, seeing his terrible hangover. there was a silence, with the only noise coming from the car engine and the occasional cough from the back. 

"we'll be back in a few minutes, wil. take some rest."

the taller sank back into his seat, sighing and closing his eyes. techno smiled and kept his eyes on the road. 


	2. SCRATCHES WON'T DISSAPEAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "uh... hello?" 
> 
> schlatt froze. 
> 
> "ah, right, you're the guy... okay." 
> 
> he turned around to see the soft-spoken man called wil. he was positioned rather awkwardly in the doorway, eyes flickering from schlatt's own to his hands, holding the picture frame. 
> 
> he was taller than schlatt expected, to say the least. a lot taller. his face looked pale and heavy, a flush creeping onto his face as he stared a little more at schlatt's shirtless glory, the sheet he had carelessly flung on himself drifting off like melting candlewax.

* * *

the first thing schlatt heard as he woke up were voices. 

loud ones; shouting, which didn't help the raging headache he had in his head. it felt like his brain was pulsating against his skull. rubbing his temple with calloused hands, he managed to pull himself out from under the ivory-shaded sheets.

the place felt... off, somehow. had someone he knew repainted? the room wasn't familiar to him. the walls were a bleak white, or really, everything in the room was. white and greys shrouded his vision, coupling together in a mess of blurs and static. 

he felt cold, the slightest waves of air sending shivers down his spine. he smelt like wine, and his body ached with faint handprints and scratched that burnt into his skin, purple bruises all over his chest and neck. 

so much for giving up drinking, he thought. 

he stood up shakily, steadying himself with his arms; it took him a while to realise he didn't have a shirt on. 

ah, that's where the chill came from. 

there was nothing around to wear; a closet he pulled open turned up empty, only filled with boxes and crates full of weird things like tuning forks and yellowed music sheets, ripped with age. 

no other solutions coming forward, he yanked the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

he had almost forgotten about the shouting, until it became impossible to block it out. curiosity got the better of him as he crept out of the room and into a long stairway. the only way was down, unless an inaccessible attic was considered a 'way out'. 

the stairs were the kind that are cold, made of painted black metal, and they spiralled down. the commotion was coming from the first room on the left of the downstairs; even though it was shut, he could make out a deep voice shunning someone with a british accent. it sounded oddly familiar. 

it really wasn't his place to intervene; not yet, at least. so schlatt continued creeping down the steps, eventually stumbling light-headed into the room on the right. 

it was a kitchen-diner; an island in the middle of the room, with a _chaise longue_ on on end, one of the only things of proper colour in the room; a bright carmine. there's a beige guitar hanging above it on thin strings. 

he fell onto the settee just as he heard the voices in the other room falter. there were then footsteps, the creak of a hinge, and then the slamming of the front door. 

a phone rang faintly in schlatt's pocket. he frantically snatched it out, ready to deny his caller, when he heard the softer of the two voices from the other room. the speaker sounded tired. they had a cute british accent, which was only slightly pronounced. 

"hello?"

schlatt suddenly realised why he was there. a mental checklist in his head was slowly ticking off all the things he had heard or witnessed. 

he was shirtless, drunk, sported numerous bruises, and he was in the home of someone he didn't know. 

ah, fuck. he'd promised himself no more one-nighters. 

the voice spoke again. "hello? is- dave?" 

who the fuck was dave? schlatt wondered. his question didn't stay unanswered for long, as a third voice he hadn't heard before suddenly spoke. "i'm here, wil."

"oh, thank god. he's left, right?" 

dave must have nodded, because the man presumably named wil let out a faint sigh of relief. "i thought he'd never go away."

schlatt guessed they were talking about the deep-voiced man who had slammed the door on his way out. he blinked a little, regaining some of his eyesight from his hangover, and quietly moved off the sofa to avoid disturbing the pair in the room over. 

he started looking around. he wasn't being nosy, as such, but he was curious as to where he was. the house wasn't some typical estate, that was certain. it was spacious, and used minimal colour. if that didn't scream 'rich boy's playhouse', schlatt didn't know what did. 

the kitchen-island at the middle of the room was made of a sleek marble, as was the rest of the kitchen's countertops. alongside the wine-red sofa, the herbal plants in the kitchen were some of the only colour. they looked very well looked after, green vines tangling in indents and cracks in the setup; long-leaved plants climbing about sporadically.

his gaze fell on some photos by a television set by a table; which was dark grey in its shade and had a couple chairs littered around it. 

the photos themselves were on a set of shelves. curiously, he picked one up, brushing off a thin layer of dust. they didn't look like they had been touched for a while. 

there was an inscription below it. 

_from the best family in the world!_

_love: tommy, toby, dave and phil._

he recognised the third name; dave. from the photo, he looked nice enough; tall, mousy-brown hair, well-built. he had a small, warm smile on his face, a stark contrast to the beaming grins of the two shorter boys either side of him. one had bright blonde hair, the other had dark, hickory brown. 

there was a fourth figure, too. a tall, pale blonde man in green behind the three. he was a good deal older than the others; his arms wrapped around them gently. 

they looked familiar. 

"uh... hello?" 

schlatt froze. 

"ah, right, you're the guy... okay." 

he turned around to see the soft-spoken man called wil. he was positioned rather awkwardly in the doorway, eyes flickering from schlatt's own to his hands, holding the picture frame. 

he was taller than schlatt expected, to say the least. a lot taller. his face looked pale and heavy, a flush creeping onto his face as he stared a little more at schlatt's shirtless glory, the sheet he had carelessly flung on himself drifting off like melting candlewax.

wil's brows furrowed and he hesitantly took a few steps forward. the shorter of the two grinned. "i don't bite, man. it's your house." 

wil cautiously smiled back and made his way over to the kitchen annex, kneeling down slightly and finding a large wine-rack on a lower section, slim fingers pausing to read labels and dates of the alcohols. 

he eventually decided on a bottle and pulled the cap open, taking a long drink. schlatt finally spoke up. 

"isn't that a bit of a bad idea?" 

wil stared at him. "what? having wine? my hangover is gone, thank you very much." 

the shorter held up his hands in response. "alright, alright, princess." he laughed at how the sudden nickname made wil bristle indignantly, making him respond with a grumpy tone."i suppose you'll be wanting an explanation for why you're here?" 

"that would help a great deal."

*******

a few minutes later, schlatt sat on the red chaise with a mug of warm tea in his hands, a thicker blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders.

"so... i was being a public nuisance."

wil, or as schlatt had come to know him, wilbur, gave a shy grin. "you could say that." schlatt rubbed his face with a warmed hand, grimacing. "before the police got there, i asked my... friend to get you out."

the shorter leaned forward, putting his cup down and holding his head in his hands. wilbur looked at him and quietly asked how his hangover was. "better, thanks." the two exchanged smiles. "i mean, to be honest, i thought... ah, fuck it. i thought i'd had a one night stand." 

he internally gave himself a pat on the back at the sight of wilbur's flushed pink face. what followed was a string of curses and giggles from both parties, mostly from schlatt's incessant teasing. 

schlatt tried to lean back, but a particularlly angry bruise on his lower back prevented him from doing so, making him lurch forward, growling various curses, too. 

"did- did my friend give you any bruises? he wasn't the gentlest, i'm afraid." wilbur questioned, head tilting to one side, curly hair flopping down to cover half his face.

he gasped when schlatt nodded, rushing up from his seat opposite to sit next to his guest, gently pulling off half the blanket. sure enough, there were numerous purple marks, some big, some small, scattered across schlatt's stomach and neck. 

schlatt flinched slightly when long, cold fingers brushed against one, his eyes accidentally falling onto wilbur's face. he was looking intently at the marks, hands grazing his chest. schlatt felt his face warm. 

there was a loud thump from upstairs. 

"oh!" wilbur jumped, pulling his gaze away from the bruises and onto the doorway. "here he is now." a figure could be heard hurtling down the stairs, 3 at a time. after a few seconds they were panting right in front of the settee. 

"sir- wil- the guy's out of-" he looked up as the brunette started to laugh. he lifted his head up and his mouth formed a perfect 'o' as he saw the pair sitting down on the seats, red-brown eyes alert and wary. 

"forgive me for being worried about you, wil," mumbled the bowed pink head of the man. schlatt stared at him for a minute. "you're the guy from the photos, right? dave, or somethin'." wilbur turned back to give him a smile and a thumbs up. dave scowled at him. 

"s'none of your business, idiot."

wilbur coughed a little and fiddled with a stray string on his jumper, head held low. "tech, please. not now." turning his head from his brother and schlatt, the pinkette gave a groan and pulled a chair over to the table, making sure it scraped across the polished floor.

he must have seen wilbur looking at the bruises, because not long after an uncomfortable silence, (broken only by schlatt drinking), he got up to find balms in the bathroom. 

as soon as he left, the taller let out a sharp exhale. "i'm sorry about him," wilbur said apologetically. 

the shorter gave him a warm grin. "it's all good. but i've got a question."

the taller nodded. "ask away." he smiled. his smile was nice; schlatt probably stared at how his lips curved at the edges and cheeks formed dimples for too long before remembering his question.

"do you... do this regularly or something? take randos off from somewhere and take them home? or was there something goin' on?"

wilbur froze a little, eyes glazing and staring at nothing in particular for a little before he shook himself clear and gave a brisk nod. "you... don't recognise me, do you?" 

schlatt frowned, squinting and pulling at tufts of his hair. what had seemed off, exactly?

photos of a familiar family. a familiar voice. familiar names. everything was just familiar, only a little too out of reach for schlatt to grasp. 

"no, i don't. you wanna tell me or something?" 

he noticed how wilbur's face fell, nimble hands back to fiddling with strands and strings pulled out of the yellow pull-over. he looked embarrassed, almost; (was he nervous?) letting schlatt's imagination go wild.

"kay. let me see... you're a porn star."

the brunette went bright red and lifted his head back up. "i most certainly am not." he said hotly, crossing his arms. 

"uh. sure. what about- this isn't actually your house and you're looking after it for the weekend."

"jesus christ, you'll never get it."

schlatt raised his hands in mock defeat. "tell me then, loverboy."

"i'm a musician."

he said it so abruptly, so fast, that schlatt almost missed it. he looks around the room, noticing the smallest things that now make so, _so_ much more sense.

he turns his head to see the guitar hanging from the walls. he hears wilbur's voice. "but- i'd really appreciate it if you didn't-"

"-make a big deal about it," schlatt finishes. it's not like he was going to. wilbur looks up at him gratefully, giving him another stupidly warm smile. 

"but you don't recognise me, then?"

wilbur. a painfully familiar name and a painfully familiar voice. like the man his own father gushed over every fucking day. the man his father had idolised to the point of no return. his ideal son. right. 

"wilbur... wilbur soot."

he gave a shy grin. "that's me."

this time it was schlatt's turn for his face to fall. wil caught on, resting a cold hand on his shoulder. "is something the matter?" he chided gently, soft eyes sinking into schlatt's mind. 

the shorter shook his head and pulled the blanket closer to himself, in turn moving wilbur's hand away from him. 

the tension was thick. schlatt closed himself off for a while, letting wilbur's frantic pulling of strings gradually increase to a worrying level. at the rate he was going, he wouldn't have a jumper sleeve. 

"i never introduced myself, did i?" the bronze haired man said quietly. the taller mumbled something in agreement. 

"it's schlatt."

just as wilbur was about to say something back, dave burst through the door, a bag of balms and creams in hand. 

*******

"did i do something wrong...?" asked wilbur. 

he was rubbing the soothing creams on schlatt's wounds. the sensation was nice, cooling. the shorter found himself accidentally melting into the touch. "no, sorry, it was..." he trailed off, turning his head back to wilbur for support. 

he smiled encouragingly. 

"...something with my dad." the brunette didn't stop his ministrations, instead pressing down hard on a section of his back which had been spared of the plight of being thrown into a car by a hardened bodyguard. 

"can i tell you something?" wilbur asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. schlatt nodded. 

"i feel like you heard me shouting to someone a while ago," he started, lifting his gaze to meet sharp caramel eyes hidden by locks of bronze. the eyes glinted in acknowledgement. "yeah, that was my manager. he's the reason i took you back here," he murmured quietly, absentmindedly playing with schlatt's hair. 

"what?" 

wilbur's eyes darted to the door. "he's not the nicest... person i've ever met."

schlatt snorted. "yeah, i kinda got that." 

wil ignored him and pointed to a faint red mark on his face. "i was drunk as shit last night, and he slapped me."

schlatt froze. "what the fuck? he did- he did that?" wilbur nodded back sadly. the shorter snarled and lifted his hand to gently cup the side of wilbur's head. "can you not fire him or something? aren't you in charge, or-" 

wil stared at him with rounded eyes. "i don't have a chance," he whispered. tears formed, dripping down his porcelain face, leaving long trailed marks. schlatt brushed them away with his thumb and looked at him fiercely. 

"if i see him do that to you again, i'll fucking kill him." 

all of a sudden he felt arms wrap around him, encircling his waist in a case of warmth. wilbur was hugging him. schlatt felt tears fall onto his back. "please, do you have to leave here? you've been so nice, so nice." wilbur uttered the words like a prayer, like it had been the highest form of positive attention he'd had in years. 

then again, it probably had been. his brother cared, but was too distant; probably attached to the manager in some shitty-shady contract; his family, probably too far away to go help. judging by the dust on the photo, he hadn't seen them for a long time. 

"i won't go if you don't want me to," he said gently. 

wilbur looked up at him, eyes shiny and glossy. his jumper was thready and stained with balm, but he was smiling now, and that made schlatt happy. 

"thank you." was all wilbur said back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n - 
> 
> please comment! they make my day, and besides, i like hearing from people about my shitty work. like, how's the story going to go? what's schlatt's relationship w/ his dad? will the manager get the shit beaten out of him later-  
> you get the point. 
> 
> oh, and if you do like it, kudos also makes me feel warm inside <3 thank you. 
> 
> this was a no-beta, i'm afraid! i'll correct any silly mistakes later.


	3. RED ON WHITE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the white of the cabinet was now dotted with marks of red. blood. his blood. and the cause emanated from the bottom of the drawer; a set of small razor blades, lying unpackaged. schlatt felt his stomach drop. 

* * *

schlatt spent the rest of the day looking around the house. 

it was even bigger than he'd first thought; a normal 2 floors, then a closed off attic door, (which he couldn't reach, and when he did try, techno gave him a weird look, shaking his head), and the kitchen diner, with its sparse decor and blinding paint.

schlatt wasn't a nervous guy; but something about techno made him feel like a little kid again. he always looked at him like he had been waving a knife at himself and wilbur; a permanent look of distrust had etching itself onto his face and being stubborn enough to not let go.

so, schlatt, being the reasonable man he was, followed him quietly, like a little dog. 

"hey, man. where's the bathroom? i gotta take a piss."

the guard sighed, quickly ushering him into a small room off the end of the second floor's corridor. 

the bathroom was the usual blank white, and far, far bigger than a bathroom needed to be. the sight was already starting to get sickening; this was supposed to be a house, not a mental institution. then again...

schlatt locked the door, frowning as he heard techno step in front of it. 

"you don't have to stand in front of the goddam door, man." he heard the shuffling of spats and grinned. he was totally _not_ going to have a massive power-trip, being able to order someone around. 

he looked around the at the various porcelain furnishings, tracing a hand over tiles as he walked over to the sink. 

he used the time he had to look in the mirror, examining his features slowly. he didn't look as shitfaced as he expected; but the space under his eyes was rimmed dark and brooding, and he noticed scratches and the occasional bruise creep up to his neck, areas which had ended up being too sensitive even for wilbur's gentle touch.

his hair was messy, knotted badly, and he angrily tried to pull it back into submission. it didn't work; making it worse than before. he looked around in the cabinets above, looking for a brush or gel that he could use to make the bird's nest that was his hair tame again. 

the first shelf in the dresser had nothing apart from toners and makeup. the second had handcream and soaps, alongside antiseptic cream and a tub of plasters.

in the last cabinet, there were an assortment of simple brushes. he leant forward slightly and moved his hand around to pick one up, when he quickly lurched back with a hiss, like something had bitten him. 

"hey, everything okay in there?" came a deep voice from the other side of the door. schlatt cursed under his breath, answering with a "yeah, fine," then going back to glaring angrily at the drawer.

he brang his finger to his mouth, spitting the blood into the sink before silently persuading himself to take a look back inside. 

the white of the cabinet was now dotted with marks of red. blood. his blood. and the cause emanated from the bottom of the drawer; a set of small razor blades, lying unpackaged. schlatt felt his stomach drop. 

he gingerly (and carefully, this time) picked up each of the silver edges and shoved them in a jean pocket until there was only one left in the cabinet; the one with his blood staining the dull metal. then that one was in his pocket too. 

blood had started to slowly seep back onto his hand, trailing down his palm and starting to move down his arm. he surveyed his arm a little before running the cut under the cold water of the sink.

he held that hand under the tap and used his other hand to reach into the second draw, ripping the plaster cover open with his teeth. 

"are you done yet?" he jumped a little at the deep voice. 

"yeah, gimme a minute." the plaster covered the cut nicely, and so he opened the door to be greeted with the back of techno. he would fix his hair later. "hey, man." 

the bodyguard nodded in acknowledgement and started walking down the long hallway again. his strides were long and fast, and schlatt had to speedwalk to keep up. 

eventually they came to a small room which schlatt noticed was the one he had woken up in. "if wilbur wants you to camp out for a while, this'll be your room," the pink-haired man said, carelessly motioning inside. schlatt and him stood awkwardly in the corridor for a second before techno spoke up. "and that concludes the tour."

schlatt looked at him dumbly for a minute before turning around and stepping into the room. he could feel techno's eyes staring into his head, then noticing a bulge in one pocket. 

schlatt turned to see his eyes firmly placed on his side, and he coughed. "yeah, what is it?" the shorter's eyes stayed where they were. 

"what have you stolen?" 

schlatt's eyes narrowed. "i don't steal," he said, to which techno glared at him. his face was dark was he walked over to the taller, pushing him into the inside of the room, against the wall nearest to the door and holding his wrists with large hands.

he flipped schlatt back round, who had started to struggle against techno's strong grip. 

"i said, what did you steal?" he cautiously reached into the pocket, not getting far before schlatt wrestled out of his grip. "don't fucking do that." schlatt growled. 

techno frowned but rose his hands in mock defeat and stepped away. "just show me what you took." 

the taller rubbed his wrists angrily, upturning his pockets, and the sound of metal made a satisfying clink on the wooden floor. "what have you got to say about _that_ , then?"

techno didn't seem to have anything to say. his eyes widened as each razor dropped to the floor. 

when he did speak, his words were mumbled. "where'd you find-?" although he didn't need to continue for schlatt to understand. 

"bathroom, third shelf in the cabinet by the sink." 

techno sighed, rubbing his face with his palms. he knelt down, picking up one of the blades by the safe edge. schlatt watched as he examined the one with the brown stains of blood on. 

he got up from kneeling on the floor, however he kept his eyes firmly on the ground, ignoring schlatt's own. "i'll talk to him about this later." he muttered, spinning on polished shoes to leave. 

he stopped by the doorway as schlatt was about to speak. 

"my brother seems to care for you. the only think i ask of you is to do the same for him in return." schlatt opened his mouth, closing it shortly after he saw techno's face; his eyes looked wild and chaotic. it looked strangely natural for him, like the red had been there all along, waiting to come out. 

"got it, chief." schlatt said with a mock salute.

techno seemed accepting of this answer, turning back around and leaving at a brisk pace. 

the room was silent once again. 

_now what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n ;; lol i know the blade is probably super ooc but i wanna have fun with this book so i don't feel unmotivated, srry :]
> 
> hints for next chapter : performances, running, and hurt/comfort. also omg please comment about how much you hate the manager i love making completely detestable characters <3
> 
> also i no-beta'd this. it's 10pm here. kudos & follow my wattpad @CATATON1C anyway ily all gn 

**Author's Note:**

> author's notes 
> 
> don't hassle the real people! this is for fun!
> 
> i can't promise regular updates, but i'll try to put out a chapter once a week! (lol key word being *try*)
> 
> check out my wattpad, (CATATON1C) for other books and maybe even earlier updates.


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